Demolition Lovers
by greysfanhp
Summary: Hannibal and Clarice one-shot. After the events at the Verger estate Clarice is left in a less than desirable state, meaning of course that the good doctor will have to intervene.


**So I've finally got around to writing a Hannibal/Clarice fic! This is my first so I hope I don't fail miserably, XD Well, with that said, hope you enjoy.**

Demolition Lovers

One thirty a.m. and the fourth shot of Jack Daniels burned the special agents throat. She sat on the wooden floor with the television on mute; the images flashed in and out without care reminding her of her own stupidity. She downed another glass of liquid courage and very unsteadily got up and turned it off. With an unbalance so foreign to her and the bottled that contained her very best friend she trudged up valiantly to her room, hitting a wall every so often that had been invisible until she smacked herself on the head with it. With each fall she became more and more defiant and determined to reach her destination, and with another swing she managed to reach the stairs.

With the little light that illuminated the odyssey she had chosen to partake and the alcohol that was flowing threw her veins she wondered drunkenly if she'd make it up alive. But anyway, what was there to live for? She asked herself. Her career sucked and she had been suspended until further notice, Ardelia had gotten a promotion and moved out, Dr. Lecter had escaped and Hannibal had left her, or better said, she had been too arrogant and cocky to answer the truth, the truth that might have spared her all the pain and empty whisky bottles.

She took one heavy step and noticed she wasn't too drunk. She took another quick step, confidence booming in her so she tried running upwards but dizziness overtook her and she fell awkwardly on her head. She groaned feeling even more stupid than before and when hot red liquid trickled mockingly down her face she closed her eyes and wondered if the god she didn't believe in was having fun.

"Silly, Clarice." A smooth metallic voice spoke softly, the tone it held was patronizing with a bit of mockery but she noticed despite the buzzing in her head it held some concern.

"Great," She thought out loud. "Now I'm not only drunk, with my skull cracked open but I'm also hallucinating… really, just… great." Her voice in turn held that West Virginia accent she'd worked so much to rid, but now she couldn't bother to try to conceal it.

"Come now, Clarice, no need to be so melodramatic. First of all your skull is not cracked open, it's simply got a small gash; second you should've known that that much alcohol isn't safe." The soothing voice chastised the same way it would've with a petulant child. Clarice noticed the voice was closer than before, maybe a meter away no less.

"I am not being melodramatic; I am simply stating the facts as they are." She answered back stubbornly, wondering at the same time why she was partaking in a conversation with a figment of her imagination.

"Oh really, well what are the facts then, Clarice? Do tell me please, why is it that it's my voice you say you're imagining. Tell me Clarice, did you sin and now do you wish to confess?" The voice asked, mockery the only thing present in it.

"I lied, Doctor." She whispered. "I lied and now I regret it."

The man smiled, she'd finally spoken the words he'd so dearly wanted to hear and the rich, succulent scent of blood curled through the air like a lover's perfume, teasing him with an alluring, dangerous flavour that begged for attention.

"Open your eyes, Clarice." He ordered knowing his voice held no room for questioning.

Now truly doubting her sanity and wondering how broken she'd be if she'd open her eyes and he wasn't there she did as ordered. There in the dark in all his glory and a spectacular Armani suit the good doctor stood at the base of her stairs. His eyes twinkled in the moonlight, amusement never leaving them. She lay speechless, the alcohol that continued coursing through her making it impossible to decide on anything. Her gun, she thought automatically, oh just fuck the gun… her other side reprimanded.

"Really, Clarice, a firearm in your current state is truly the most asinine thing you could think of." He scolded but now softly. She didn't even bother pondering on how he had so accurately read her mind, she'd never truly understand. "Now, if I may, you need medical attention."

It was then she remembered about the fall and the gash and the blood, so instead she simply nodded, still too stunned to make a coherent sentence. He moved towards her in a catlike walk, and with the same strength she remembered he picked her up in one swift motion which he somehow managed to make look elegant. The moment she was in his arms she could smell the expensive cologne he wore and without even realizing it worked as a soothing tonic to her pains. He laid her gently on the bed with the same care one would have with their most prized possession.

He left her view for a few moments, only to come back minutes after fully stocked to heal _his_ Clarice. Yes, he thought _his_ and no one else's. He finished his work in record time and finally let himself inspect her face. It was tired and pale, weary and beaten.

"Why did you come back, Doctor?" She asked.

"I never left. Now please explain why is it that I come to find you in such state of despair when I was left under the impression you wanted it to be that way."

"You know the answer to that."

"Tsk, tsk, Clarice, you know I don't like those answers." He warned.

"You won't hurt me." She answered simply.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"Then tell me Clarice, would you ever say to me 'stop, if you loved me you'd stop'? Tell me, have a thousand years gone by so quick?" He asked her quietly, his hand running through her hair.

"Yes, Doctor, they have."

"That's my girl."

**So, did you like it? It's time for you to be a responsible reader and review! Lol.**


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